


Three Words

by earthseraph



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Belated Birthday, Bucky Barnes-centric, Fluff, M/M, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Steve and Bucky are dorks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-30
Updated: 2015-08-30
Packaged: 2018-04-18 01:18:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4686965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/earthseraph/pseuds/earthseraph
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>Hey, Buck!</em><em>I probably won’t be home when you wake up- sorry for not letting you know when I left! You just looked so calm and content sleeping, I didn’t want to wake you. Anyways, get dressed and by two pm meet me at that little restaurant down the street we like going to.</em><em>See you in a bit! -Steve</em>, along more heart emojis than Bucky can count, the adorable dork.</p><p>(Or: the one where Bucky remembers his birthday and Steve does a thing)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three Words

**Author's Note:**

> So this is a birthday fic written for [Emily](http://bhrnes.tumblr.com/) and yeah I hope you enjoy it and have a good birthday!!

Bucky isn’t sure what woke him up, but knowing his Super-Hearing (as Clint dubbed it) it can be anything. And he means _anything_. Usually it’s the dog down the street barking or a car alarm going off in the street, but today it seems to be nothing. There's no repeating sound going on outside the walls of he and Steve’s room. There’s no imminent threat lurking in the morning light.

Nothing. 

He frowns and pushes himself up from where he was laying on his back, blanket falling from his chest making him shiver in the cool almost-autumn air, hair that really needs a trim- but Natasha keeps slapping scissors out of his hand- flopping over his eyes, and his metal arm whirring softly at his side. There’s nothing around him that should have woken him up. Steve, as usual, is gone on his morning run-

wait. He looks at the window, still frowning, the sun’s too high in the sky for it to be five or six in the morning.

Bucky turns his head to look over at the alarm clock resting on his bedside table, his frown deepens. It’s closer to afternoon than it is morning and Steve’s gone. The sheets are cold next to him, there’s no sound of running water coming out of their en-suite bathroom- not even the light scrape of Steve making breakfast. Nothing. 

That seems to be the theme of today: _nothing_.

Bucky reaches past the alarm clock and pulls his phone off the charger, the screen lighting up happily. He smiles at the image greeting him: he and Steve’s faces squished together- laughing into the camera, teeth, and gums and all. He swipes past the screen, quickly types in his passcode, intending to send Steve and concerned-but-playful text, when the Notes app loads instead of his homepage. 

_Hey, Buck!_ It starts, like a damned letter, _I probably won’t be home when you wake up- sorry for not letting you know when I left! You just looked so calm and content sleeping, I didn’t want to wake you. Anyways, get dressed and by two pm meet me at that little restaurant down the street we like going to._ Bucky looks at the time and curses, he only has an hour and a half to get dressed, that’s what he gets for becoming an avid sleeper, _See you in a bit! -Steve_ , ending along more heart emojis than Bucky can count, the adorable dork. 

He lets himself smile at his phone for a moment before making sure the note’s saved- he wants to look at it again on a Bad Day, sue him- and rolls out of bed. His toes curl in on themselves when they touch the cold wood and a shivers again, reminding himself to remind Steve to buy him one of those fluffy rugs so he can start his day off with less shivers and more softness. 

He’s not sure what he should wear. The restaurant’s causal for the most part but they only frequent it on special occasions or Really Really Good Days. And there’s nothing special about today. It’s just a random missionless Thursday, sure today’s a Good Day but he didn’t remember anything life changing and-slash-or emotion bringing in the last few days. He doesn’t think he forgot their anniversary, it’s not the first of the month- because like all cliche Men Out of Time they finally pulled their heads out of their asses on New Years- and it’s not Steve’s birthday.

He frowns again, but pushes himself out of the bed anyways, he needs to get ready for an unexpected date with Steve. 

The first thing he does is go to their shared closet- walk in closet, of course, because Pepper wouldn’t put them in a brownstone with anything less. He stares at clothes blankly for a moment, still not used to having so much instead of having little to nothing, before pulling a few pieces out and heading to the bathroom with an easy throw of the clothes on their bed. 

He does the usual: uses the bathroom, brushes his teeth, washes his face, and stares at his hair for a good couple of minutes. He’s not sure what to do with it. It’s too long and slightly frizzy to leave down without putting product in it, and he doesn’t want to deal with getting floral scented goo out of the ridges of his metal hand. He can’t figure out a fish-tail braid for the life of him without Natasha or Thor- surprisingly- doing it for him. And he likes Steve being the one to part his hair with product and patience- because ya’ know, the metal-hand thing and Steve’s fingers feel nice in his hair among other places. So, after too many minutes of staring at himself in the mirror, he decides to leave his hair down for now but put it in a bun before leaving the house. (Once he spent a good five minutes perfecting what Natasha called a Ballerina Bun _before_ he put his clothes on, and all his hard work went down the drain when he threw his shirt on. Now he knows better.)

He leaves the bathroom, shutting the light off as he goes, and gets dressed. Since he’s still unsure of the occasion, he goes semi-dressed up. A pair of nice black pants that he spent too much on but Steve appreciated the view in, green button-down, a blue jean jacket to shield himself from the chill inducing wind, some nice fluffy socks because his feet that are forever cold, and his go-to boots. He gives himself a once over in the mirror, nodding at the outfit, before pulling his hair up in a bun, tucking loose strands into the meat of the bun with pins, and leaving the room. 

Bucky walks through each room, doing a quick perimeter check, grabbing his keys and wallet, running back to he and Steve’s room for his phone, before ending up at the front door and looking at the clock on the wall. It’s thirty until two but the walk to the restaurant only takes him ten minutes. He could wait outside the restaurant until he sees Steve, or go in and check if there’s a reservation under he and Steve’s name for a table. He could also take the scenic route to the restaurant but that risks being late or some sort of trouble finding him. He could always just stay home but he’s too excited and jittery to sit down on the couch for twenty minutes without getting restless. Bucky weighs his options, shifting his weight from foot to foot as he thinks. 

“Screw it,” Bucky mutters to himself, sticking the key in the door, and opening it, he’s going to get there early. 

He locks the door, and quickly walks down the stairs, pausing for a moment to touch the roses he started growing last month, before reaching the blackgate in seconds. He calms himself down as he stops, he has time to kill before getting to the restaurant, he doesn’t need to rush, he needs to do everything about half a second slower.

Slowly, _calmly_ , he unlocks the black gate and exits the area he calls home, locking it again before walking down the sidewalk with his hands in his pocket, metal fingers fiddling with keys, flesh fingers catching the lint in his jacket pocket, thinking about what Steve could be up to with each step, knowing that he’ll be happy with whatever Steve’s up to, ‘cause it’s Steve.

He can feel excitement settling in as he nears the restaurant, his hand jingling his keys with each step, his steps picking up as the little sign comes into view, a dopey smile creeping through the poker face he’s trying to keep set. He’s not sure why he’s so excited. He see’s Steve every day, they go on dates whenever they have a free Sunday- making up for lost time, he thinks- but still he’s excited. He doesn’t think he’s been this excited since before the war.

Bucky shakes off the almost-maudlin mood coming on when he thought about the lack of excitement he’s had, and keeps walking, the entrance to the restaurant less than ten feet from him. He part walks, part jogs to the entrance, and stops in front of the hostess. 

The hostess smiles at him, recognizing him not for who he is but how many times he and Steve frequent this place, “Welcome to The Pattern, James, your party is waiting for you.”

Bucky smiles at her, wishing he had a hat on he could tip and actually remember her name like she does him, and moves to enter the restaurant when the hostess calls him back.

“But you have to wear this!” She pulls out a thick, black bandana from her podium and hands it to him, “You can tie it over your eyes but I need to lead you through the restaurant,”

He takes the bandana, internally frowning at whatever the hell Steve has planned for him, but ties it on nonetheless. He’ll humor Steve, and he trusts Steve enough now that he knows Steve won’t screw with him. A few months ago he would have thrown the bandana on the floor and stormed into the restaurant because of his _lack_ of trust. He ties it around his eyes and anticipates the hostess putting her hand on his shoulder. He can feel the hair on the back his neck rising when the hostess comes near, her fruity perfume filling his nose, and the small _clack_ of her heels against the stone patio. All his senses heightened because of the lack of sight.

“Okay, James,” she starts, he feels the cool air from inside the restaurant hit him when she opens the door, “we’re going straight inside, then to the right, got it?”

“Got it,” he nods, letting the slight pressure of her hand lead him into the restaurant. He’s expecting the restaurant to be that low-chatting and plate-scraping loud that it usually is, but it’s not. He can hear some far off voices in the kitchen along with the clang of something being cooked, but there’s no sound in the main dining area. It’s eerily silent without babies crying and people laughing while they drag their utensils across their plates. He wants to rip the bandana off and maybe question the hostess who’s quietly telling him where to walk, but he knows Steve set this up. There’s no possibly way for someone else to have gotten into his phone- even hackers can’t get into his phone due to all the firewalls Stark put up- so all this has to be apart of Steve’s plan.

Whatever that may be. 

“Okay,” the hostess says, her voice still hushed, “you can take off the bandana now.”

“Thanks,” he nods, waiting to hear her retreat before undoing the bandana, careful with his bun.

The bandana barely comes off his eyes when a loud “SURPRISE” come from in front of him makes him jump almost a foot away from where he was previously standing. 

He curses, placing a hand on his chest like those old ladies do in movies, and shakes his head slightly confused but smiling at the sight in front of him. 

The restaurant's cleared out save for all the Avengers and immediate friends. There’s a _Happy Birthday!_ banner hanging from the ceiling, a three tier cake in the center of the room, and balloons littering the floor. Steve’s smiling at him with his arms still stretched out from yelling ‘surprise’ and everyone else is giving him shit-eating grins (except for Jane and Pepper because they’re actually nice.)

“What’s all this for?” He keeps looking around the room, stunned, surprised, excited, too many emotions happening all at once for his taste. 

Steve, finally breaking position, walks over to him through the sea of multicolored balloons, and takes his hands with the most love-drunk smile on his face that Bucky’s ever seen, “Happy belated birthday, Buck,”

“Belated birthday? Oh-” He understands everything now. 

A couple days ago while they were watching Criminal Minds, Reid mentioned not telling the team about his birthday and Bucky was hit with a flood of memories. He remembered cakes only happening once a year that he shared with Steve, he remembered presents that had to be saved up for since the year prior, he remembered his mom kissing his forehead and whispering _Happy Birthday_ while his sister and Steve chanted for him to blow out the single candle, he remembered a specific date, and he told Steve as such. In the middle of Criminal Minds, during a scene that wasn’t all that significant to the show, he told Steve that his birthday was on March 10th and that he’ll have to wait until next year to blow out candles. He meant it as joke, he did, he definitely never meant for Steve to do something like _this_ for him. He didn’t mean for Steve to get the idea that he regretted not knowing his birthday, or being told about it for that matter.

“You made me a birthday party,“ Bucky says, looking at their entwined hands and not at his lover or friend’s smiling faces. 

“Yeah,” Steve says, bringing their hands up to his lips, making Bucky look up into those blue eye, “I wanted you to be able to blow out your candles before next year.”

Bucky smiles, his eyes getting a little teary around the edges and thanks whatever god that’s listening that he got Steve as his best friend, _lover_. That he gets a literal cake and can eat it too. That they both made it through the terrible trials and tribulations they were put through because the fates were evil but they were destined to be together.

He thanks whatever god that’s listening because they haven’t said ‘I love you’ yet, but this- Steve wanting Bucky to be able to blow candles out before next year, that’s more than any of those three words will ever mean. 

That’s more than he can ever ask for.

So he’ll blow out his candles when Tony inevitably makes fake-gagging sounds at the two of them, he’ll blow out his candles, and when he gets home he’ll finally tell Steve he loves him.

It’s going to be the best birthday party he’s ever had, belated or not, and it’s all thanks to Steve. 

Steve, the loveable dork who’s looking at him like he hung the sun and painted the moon. His Steve. 

Bucky lets his smile soften to something more intimate, ignoring the whooping and cheering of his friends, “How about we go blow out some candles?” 

- _End_

**Author's Note:**

> Follow My Tumblr for all the Seb Stan and Stucky crying.
> 
> Also, if you liked this fic and you wanna give me some love reblog [This Post](http://pesmenos.tumblr.com/post/127947879885/three-words-by-earthseraph-for-bhrnes-rating-g)!


End file.
